Drama Queen

Today was the foreign language skits at school. The kids in French, German, and this year, Chinese, act out skits completely in the language they're learning. No English allowed.

They are hilarious.

In the past, my kids have been Snow White, Pain from Hercules, Monkey from Kung Fu Panda, the Little Red Hen....and the kids get so into it. Costumes, props, music, dancing. It is a real performance.

This year Jenna was Princess Leia (and Darth Mal - playing several roles is a must). She was so funny. My favorite part was when Padme stood in front with Leia and Luke hiding behind her and she said "Ahh, ahh, Leia...Luke..." and they popped out from behind her. Not a bad birthing scene. We got to see the entire Star Wars saga, all six movies, in 5 minutes...no kidding.

So funny. I love it.

A Quick Trip to the Store

This morning I went to the grocery store in my pajamas, thick socks, flip flops, and yes, I'll admit it, no bra (but I had on a jacket so you couldn't tell). I didn't even brush my hair. Well, I finger-combed it, but it wasn't very effective. Stacey and Clinton from What Not To Wear would have been appalled. I can just hear them:

"I was only going to the grocery store," I exclaim.

"But we have to see you!" they protest.

It was 8:00 am on a Saturday so I figured I'd be safe. Only one employee looked at me kind of funny when I walked in, but I didn't know her so it didn't really bother me.

I grabbed the few things I needed and was headed to the check-out stand when I heard, "Well, hello Kris! How are the Crowther's?" Yes, it was someone I knew, who gave me a very funny look after appraising my entire outfit. I kept the conversation brief: "We're fine" and booked it out of there.

I've engaged in such risky behavior before, but I am much more cautious than I used to be after hearing this story.

My mom had to run kids to school, so she hopped in the car wearing just her robe and her underclothes. She dropped off the kids and was heading home when the car ran out of gas. There she was in bare feet, a robe, no purse, no cell phone (they weren't common then), and my little sister in tow (also in her pj's). My mom was forced to knock on the door of the nearest house to ask if she could use their phone to call my dad.

I have learned from this little incident: I always wear shoes, I always take my purse, and I always have a coat if it's winter....but I don't comb my hair or wear a bra.

I have learned, but you've got to take some risks.

Watergate Bowl

Yesterday in my journalism class we played Watergate Bowl.

It is a game I made up to see how much my student's understand the Watergate Scandal (Nixon, break-in, cover-up, etc.)

I love game shows, so I tried to make it cool with a bowl with questions and theme music and exciting prizes (Peeps and gum). Some of the kids got into it and some of the kids, well....

There was one girl who sat there with her arms folded and this look on her face that said, "This is the dumbest thing ever." Even at 39, I admit to being intimidated and having those "high school moments" where I know that I'm just too nerdy to be talking to these kids. I showed that nervousness because I kept messing up and saying they answered the question wrong when they actually answered correctly. They really liked that - I have found kids love it when you show you're human. And I am very human.

But there are also neat things. Like the kids who are just racking their brains to get the right answer and then give a little "Yes!" when they get it. And the boy who tried to trick me by making up his own question instead of reading the one off the paper...and then he actually pulled the made up question on his next turn. We laughed and laughed, together.

I think some of them got a kick out of it. They all came to claim their prize afterwards (except the crossed-arm girl, she took off lickety split), so at least I can say the prizes were good.

And I think they'll all remember that Watergate was about Nixon, who was a Republican, and bugging an office and some tapes.

A Reader

I am a reader.

I know this because when people ask me what my hobbies are, I say "Reading" without even thinking about it. It is my number one, most favorite thing to do.

When I was a girl, there was no library in my town. Instead, we had the Bookmobile. It was a library in a mobile home and once a week it parked right next to my house. From the moment it arrived until it was time to leave, I laid inside on the comfy floor and read. I used to fantasize about being so involved in my book that I didn't realize the engine had started and the Bookmobile drove off with me inside.

I read like a starving person: voraciously. I inhale books in a single gobble, reading as quickly as possible and for hours at a time. At least the first time. I will reread books I love over and over and over again. This weekend I read Hunger Games and Catching Fire in about 8 hours. I will definitely read both of them again when the third book comes out in August.

Jenna reads like me. I think she's read Harry Potter so many times she can quote it from memory. Kellie is a methodical reader. She reads because it must be done, but she has a thing for comic books. Alissa loves to read, but only once. Not a re-reader. Katie is still figuring it out, but fortunately she likes Junie B. Jones and Diary of a Wimpy Kid so we get to laugh a lot when we read together.

Josh is in an AP Literature class that is killing him. Much to my dismay, he is not a reader, and the books they are reading are not for the faint of heart. For his winter term final, he had to write a paper on the book Heart of Darkness. I helped him with the paper, but I hadn't read the book, so didn't find out until afterwards that he had misunderstood a major component of his thesis. His teacher offered to let him rewrite it, so I said, "Josh, you read the book and I'll read the book and I'll help you with the rewrite."

It was a hard book. And, I thought, a little boring.

In fact, if I hadn't been reading it to help Josh, I would have set it aside after the first chapter.

But I persevered and finished it and now Josh and I have something we're bonded in.

I wanted to bond some more, so I handed him Hunger Games and said, "Josh, this is a great book. It's almost R-rated because of all the violence. I think you'd like it. Give it a try."

He read the first chapter on Sunday and said, "Hmm....interesting."

Yesterday he read more and stayed up 'til 3 am to finish the book.

I have not give up hope that he may also be ....a reader.

Konichiwa Means "Hello"

Our family has grown by two.

Two Japanese girls came to live with us for the next 10 days. They get to travel all over Utah and practice their English skills and we get to make some new friends.

I scared one half to death this morning. I gently shook her to wake her up and she leaped up and began yelling in Japanese (it was probably cursing, but who could blame her? I am pretty scary in my glasses). We had a good laugh about it on the way to school.

This is the third time we've had Japanese students stay with us. We've also had students from Germany, Korea, and France. It's become a "thing" with our family; we like international people and I'd like to think we're getting better at being a host family.

Our first student, Alice, came from France when Josh was only 12. Alice was 16. She came to live with us for 9 months - straight - poor girl. Like a first child, she had to break us in as parents of an international student and parents of a teenager. She was very patient with us, for which I am grateful. The more students we host, the more I realize what a gem Alice was. I remember her first couple of weeks with us. The language thing was hard! She was trying to make something in the kitchen and she needed a....a.....it took 10 minutes to figure out "frying pan."

Believe it or not, having strangers in my home is a stretch for me. My first inclination is to be shy and I have to force myself to reach out. My home is my haven where I feel safe and can relax, but having folks there requires me to keep up the outgoing-ness. Sometimes I feel like I have the energy to do that and sometimes I don't. This time, I was thinking "no," but then Jenna said, "Mom, aren't we going to have a Japanese student? I like it when they're here; it forces me to keep my room clean." Who can argue with that logic? I signed us up.

The best thing about hosting students is the impact on my kids. I was talking to my dad last year about our student and my dad said, "You know, Kris, one of the neat things about your kids is that they just love everyone. People of all different races and cultures come into your home and there is no prejudice there. Your kids like them and welcome them in."

It is a relief to know that the sacrifice of my home turf is resulting in kids for whom race, color, language, and religion are not a stumbling block.

For that, and clean bedrooms, I will continue to be a host parent.

Our Japanese student introducing herself at the school assembly.

Utah Mormons Part 1

Note: if you're not Mormon, you're going to be a little lost with the terminology here. Sorry!

This weekend, my brother and sister-in-law from Wisconsin stayed with us. They've lived out of Utah most of their married lives and raised their family in the "mission field." They have good kids, great kids, really great Mormon kids.

While they were here, they visited their former bishop from Wisconsin who has moved to Alpine, UT. His kids have been having a hard time. "One of the girls in their ward came and told their daughter that she couldn't be her friend because her house wasn't big enough," she said. "The kids in the ward secretly have boyfriends and girlfriends, but so their parents don't find out, they ask each other's partners to the dances." The stories kept going and it was disappointing and frustrating and to me, as a mother and a Mormon, heartbreaking. But I wasn't quite sure how to respond to her summary statement, "We would never raise our kids in Utah."

I couldn't agree, because you see, I have raised all my kids in Utah, and I think my kids are good kids, great kids, really great Mormon kids.

But I could see her point.

• I heard on the news yesterday that pharmacies in Utah are taking all the cough syrup off the shelves and putting it behind the counter because kids are stealing it to get high.
• My daughters got a note reminding them to wear a white shirt for their Young Womens choir at stake conference. The note said the white shirt "should not be too tight."
  
• A seminary principal in Utah County is currently on trial for sexual misconduct with one of his teen students.
  

Utah Mormons aren't looking too ....good.

So what's a Mormon mother raising Mormon kids in Utah to do?

I'm still working this out, so look for another post on this topic...I need to think about it.


My Utah Mormons

My Little Yogi

My Katie is a yogi - not the bear - a person who practices yoga.

She has been doing yoga at school on at least a weekly basis since she was three years old thanks to the talents of a great friend of mine named Kim Lynn. Kim is the most amazing yoga instructor ever. For about 6 months, I traveled up to her studio in Salt Lake to take her power yoga class. It completely killed me (I was not made to take my leg and wrap it three times around my waist) but was worth it for the glorious moments of shavasana and the head massage Kim gave me while I was lying in corpse pose (looking very corpse like).

Katie is a big fan of yoga...and she's very good at it. She can do all sorts of poses and can sing 3 of the sanskrit chants. She is also very good at the head massage thing. If I'm lying on the couch, she'll come and massage my head and sing me the chants and it is almost like Kim (even better because I don't have to get all sweaty and stand on my head before I've earned my massage).

The other day I asked Katie what specialists she'd gone to that day and she said yoga.

"How was it?"

"It was so good, Mom. I love yoga because when I get so furious, I can go to yoga and it relaxes me."

"What were you furious about?" I asked, wondering what could prompt an 8-year-old to need to use the word furious.

"Oh, I wasn't furious. I'm just saying that yoga helps me to be calm and happy."

Good, I thought. We can all use a little more "calm and happy."

And I'm glad my little yogi already has the tools she needs to achieve it.

Words

My favorite word is plethora.

It means "a superabundance; an excess" or in my own words "a whole lot."

I try to work this word into my normal conversation and get a secret little thrill of delight when I manage it. It's like I've taken myself to a higher level of functioning because I can say, "Oh - I see we have a plethora of ideas today" rather than "bunches" of ideas.

Well, I told my dad about my secret love of "plethora" and he told me that he does the same thing! Only his word is "ubiquitous" which means "being present everywhere at once." I think that is a harder word and much more difficult to work into normal conversation, plus it doesn't quite roll off the tongue like plethora, but he likes it.

Lately, we've been having a little competition of sorts to work these "super words" into our conversations with each other, and I have to admit, my dad is winning. 'Where does he come up with these words?' I ask myself when they're spilling out one after another. I have my suspicions that he has a little cheat sheet he pulls out right before he calls me so that he can keep me constantly amazed at his dexterous vocabulary.

My husband tried to help me by emailing me unusual words, but it didn't really work. I said, "The word just has to lend itself naturally to the conversation; it can't be forced or it's not as fun."

I think this fascination with words comes from my love of reading, a trait which I also share with my dad. I think the way people talk in books is so wonderful and rich, so much more powerful and expressive than the words most of choose to actually say. There is a bit from the movie National Treasure that I really relate to. Ben is talking to Abigail about their search for the next clue and he's using some really beautiful words and she says, "You know, no one really talks that way anymore." And Ben says, "No, but they think that way." It's true!

So, here's to talking a little more like we think. Less "cool" and more "exhilarating."

I'm sure there's a plethora of words just waiting to be used.

The Prayers of a Friend

A friend sent me an email yesterday telling about an adviser to Winston Churchill during World War II who organized a group of people who dropped what they were doing every day at a prescribed hour for one minute to collectively pray for the safety of England, its people and peace.

I've been thinking a lot about prayer lately, particularly as I find myself wanting to DO something about the people and situations in my life.

There are so many things beyond my control: my mom's and grandpa's and sister-in-law's cancer, the struggles at my kids' school, a student who's traveling down the wrong path, my kids' taking finals.....I am a "do"er, but there isn't a whole lot I can do to "fix" any of these things.

Consequently, I find myself in a constant state of prayer. One of these people or situations will come to my mind and I'll pray: for peace, for guidance, for healing, for hope, for faith, for patience. It brings me comfort to know that I am doing something, really all I can for them...turning it over to God, who I believe has His hand over all things. And I believe that God hears and responds.

The power of prayer. It is a mighty thing, I think, and a powerful tool to use in behalf of another.

I find myself increasingly touched by people who tell me "I'm praying for you." It seems to me a precious thing that a person would exercise their faith in my behalf.

Orrin Hatch wrote a song called "I'll Pray For You" that I think of often these days. The chorus goes:
So I'll pray for you
and you pray for me.
Together we'll both see us through
We'll not suppose
Only God truly knows
What the prayers of a friend can do.

Foxy Lady

I returned home from a late night basketball game to find my daughter's church teacher in the driveway wearing her pajamas.

"Can you give this money to Kellie?" she asked.

"What for?" I said in bewilderment, wondering why she was giving money to my daughter at 9:45 at night.

"Kellie called me and asked me if I would come see the play she's in. When I asked her if I could bring the money tomorrow or if she needed it right now, she said, 'Now would be best.'"

I shook my head and apologized. Kellie was in a play at school (Fabulous Mr. Fox) where she was required to sell a certain number of tickets. The play was the next day, and she'd obviously left it to the last minute...or so I thought.

I took the money to Kellie and scolded her a bit for calling people so late, then was out to get the mail when another neighbor showed up. Also in her pajamas. Also carrying money for Kellie.

By now it was 10:10 and I'm thinking, "I'm really going to have to talk to Kellie about the proper behavior for this type of thing." I started to apologize when the neighbor interrupted me and said, "Don't apologize. Your daughter was inspired to call me. I have had the worst day ever. My husband is out-of-town and I was sitting at home wondering if anyone cared about me at all when your sweet daughter called. I'm here to buy a ticket and I don't even know if I'll use it, but I'm going to tape it to my computer to remind myself that someone out there was thinking about me."

I went in to talk to Kellie and asked her how many tickets she'd sold.

"Well, Mom. I'd already sold all that I had to earlier this week, but one of the other girls was having a really hard time selling hers, so I decided to sell some for her."

I didn't know what to say. I was simply overwhelmed by the sheer goodness of this child of mine.

Comedian Bill Engvall says that the definition of awesome is "something that fills you with awe and wonder."

My Kellie is awesome.

It's in the DNA

I had to take my license out of its protective covering the other day and I was reminded of this little piece of paper.

It is my DNA sequencing. My brother Steve gave it to me. Steve is a DNA analyst. He takes little people parts and identifies folks by them, like on CSI. It is pretty cool. He has had to testify in court and everything.

Many years ago, Steve was showing this paper to me and explaining that he had to have his own sequencing identified just in case any of his little parts got mixed in with the little parts he was testing. Turns out, this DNA thing is handed down through the mother so me and all my siblings will be the same (do not ask me the details on this, I do not know how it works).

"Here," Steve said, handing the little paper to me. "Keep this on you in case you need to be...well, identified."

I was touched. Really. My little brother wanted more for me than an unmarked grave. This is especially wonderful to me because Steve and I spent most of our growing up years fighting with each other about everything. And poor Steve spent even more time striving with all his might to NOT be like me. (It's a real bummer having everyone say to you, "Well, Kris did it this way" and "You should do it like Kris." He just wanted to be Steve.)

The thing I love most about Steve is that he is the best storyteller on the planet. When he is around, I like to get him talking because it is so interesting and I laugh and laugh. I remember one time when we were at Lake Powell, he was giving us the rundown of the book "The Green Mile" by Stephen King. Steve is a big King fan; I am not. I do not like to be scared. I remember when my kids used to watch Barney and there was the song about liking ghost stories because you "get that tingly feeling." I do not like the tingly feeling.

But Steve told that story so well that I was simply entranced. And then, he didn't finish because he hadn't read the whole book yet...a cliffhanger! I actually went home and checked out and read the book because I had to know how it ended. And because Steve positively reassured me that it was not too scary and that I could handle it. He was right.

So that little slip of paper is important to me.

Important enough that I have carried it in my wallet for the last 6 years.

Because it shows that my brother cares about me.

Cares enough to give me my DNA sequence and tell me to keep it on me.

What more could I ask?

Steve and I age 4 and 18 mo.

Clean

I am at home at 1:30 on a school day.

This is weird for me because for the last six years I have worked full-time at my kid's school. But Alissa was sick, and I had no meetings, and I said, "I'll stay home with you, Alissa." Then I did all the things that I have a hard time getting done since I started working full-time, like the laundry, and the dishes, and the vacuuming. I even cleaned up the mud room AND my husband's office. Surprise, surprise, there really are floors in those rooms.

It is so nice to sit in my clean house. I wonder if my kids miss the "stay-at-home" me? There have been so many perks to working at my kids school, but the downside is that my house, which I kept immaculately clean before I started working, most of the time looks like Dorothy's in Kansas after the tornado swept through.

So today, I will enjoy the clean...and go to work tomorrow.